


Hearts Like These

by RedHead



Category: DC's Legends of Tomorrow (TV), The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: Canonical Character Death, Character Study, Gen, Gen but Slash if you squint, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Legends of Tomorrow spoilers, Lewis Snart's A+ Parenting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-18
Updated: 2018-09-18
Packaged: 2019-07-13 22:43:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,356
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16027505
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RedHead/pseuds/RedHead
Summary: They’ve never been good at talking. They weren’t built for it.Based on a prompt: You remember how Mick says he and Len don't have heart to hearts? Well do you think they did when they younger and as they got older it changed? Under what circumstances do you think they would have a heart to heart?





	Hearts Like These

 

 

His lip is bleeding. No, his nose is bleeding. It sure hurts bad enough. But he tongues his lip and it stings. They’re both bleeding.

But he’s alive. So he’s laughing and relieved and wiping the blood on his sleeve and listening to the deeper, richer laugh of the guy next to him. 

“They comin’?”

Lenny peers around the corner and sees everything in order, the other inmates in juvie, their varying ages and sizes belying their status in the hierarchy. No sign of the guys who jumped him.

“Not from there.”

The guy beside him sighs, finally, and relaxes deeper against the wall their backs are pressed to. Lenny tilts his own head back. He can’t believe he cheated death. His hands are shaking and he tries to stop them. They ran all the way down here through a few winding halls and they’re probably going to catch trouble for it later but this guy knew the way and now they seem to be in the clear and it’s–

It’s worth laughing about, okay? What else is he gonna do?

“What’s your name, kid?”

“Lenny.”

“Mick.”

He grins and extends his hand. The guys looks at his face and laughs. “You look like shit.”

“Yeah, well.” He smiles and it’s a little crooked because his lip is starting to swell, he’s pretty sure. His nose hasn’t fully stopped bleeding, he doesn’t think, and wipes it away again. He should probably go to a nurse to set it. He wonders if Mick will come with him. On that note,

“So uh,” he starts in, “thanks for saving me out there.”

“You owe me.”

“Sure,” he bobs his head in a nod. “But really, thank you. You didn’t have to do that and – “

“Hey whoa what is this? A heart to heart?” The guy is laughing but there’s a warning in there somewhere. Lenny figures he’s probably sixteen and he seems easygoing enough but when he gets tense there’s something more menacing about him.

He backtracks. “Have to  _have_  a heart to have a heart to heart.”

It takes a second, but Mick breaks out into a grin. He grabs Lenny with a headlock and gives him a noogie with a laugh. “You’re not so bad. C’mon kid, before anyone comes looking.”

 

[ … ]

 

It takes approximately three weeks for them to fall into a different sort of routine. Mick noticed fast that Lenny was sneaky and mean and he thought it was the greatest thing since sliced bread, how quick Lenny’s fingers were when he was lifting something, never caught.

“Been doing it since my dad got out,” Lenny explained. “He showed me the ropes.”

“Your old man?”

“Yeah.” Lenny felt a little sour about his dad still. He was the reason Lenny was in here. But not really. Lenny should’ve run faster. Should’ve been smarter. The plan was sloppy and he should’ve said something about the timing. He didn’t want to because Lewis was drunk and drunk meant volatile but… whatever. It didn’t matter now. 

He frowned at his lunch tray and dropped the extra pudding cup on Mick’s instead. “Have it.”

“Think you could get me a lighter?”

Lenny eyed him. He’d heard rumors about what happened to get Mick in this place. “You sure that’s wise?”

His eyes went hard and he moved to stand and Lenny felt a rush of instinctual fear – his only ally in this place, burning bridges in a literal sense might be better than burning this metaphorical one.

“I just mean–” he starts in fast, and Mick stops so he takes a second to lick his lips and come up with something to say, “I just  _mean,_ Mick, that that kinda contraband is gonna run us up bad if someone catches you with it.”

Mick looks suspicious still but he sits back down and Lenny relaxes a bit. 

“Thought you were about to try a heart to heart with me.”

“We don’t have hearts, remember?”

Mick grins finally, the throwback to their first meeting setting him at ease. “You let me worry about the contraband. Just get me a lighter, yeah?”

 

[ … ]

 

Mick shouldn’t be here. Not that he had much else in the way of places to go, just got out of his second stint – first one as an adult, in medium security – but Lenny’s frowning and tense when he opens the front door and sees him on the porch.

He looks like hell – jumped for sure, bruising and swelling starting to form. Lenny swears and lets him in because what the hell else can he do? He gets him some frozen peas from the fridge and they’re on the side of Mick’s face a moment later and he’s letting out a sigh and stretching out his legs at the kitchen table.

So of course that’s when Lisa and her mom come in the door. 

It’s world war three after that. Lisa’s mom is pissed, Lenny won’t leave Mick behind, and Lewis comes home from the bar two hours later and Lenny catches all sorts of hell for pissing off his new wife. The shouting match is epic half because Lenny never fights back. He can’t let Mick see him like that though – that  _weak_. It would never fly.

It’s not really about Mick.

Lenny’s seventeen and the house has been reaching a boiling point. It was about time it spilled over.

Lewis tells him to get out and he does. Grabs his bag, his cash, his friend, and they’re gone.

He’s got enough for a little while, enough for a motel for the night and that’s all that matters. They’ll find a place in the morning. Mick’s already talking about knowing a guy who might have a place for them at the end of the month, just gotta make a few calls. 

Lenny’s mood is foul, he’s got his own shiner and no frozen peas for  _it_ , those definitely didn’t make the cut of ‘essentials’ on the way out the door. 

Mick tentatively sits next to him and Lenny’s not sure if he’s ever done anything ‘tentative’ since they met.

“Y’know, Snart, what you did back there –”

“Save it.”

“I’m just - ”

“I don’t need a heart to heart, Mick.” He couldn’t handle one right now, he really couldn’t. He’d fall apart. 

Mick laughs a little, just a low chuckle. His voice is deeper than when they met. It’s age, but also all the smoking, Lenny’s pretty sure.

“No worries. We don’t have hearts, right?”

Lenny’s chest relaxes again. He remembers juvie. How did the world feel so much simpler when he was locked up at fourteen? “Right.”

“Sleep, or booze?”

Lenny considers, tilting his head. Their bruises are ugly and sleep ain’t coming any time soon. “Booze.”

“Whatever you say, boss.”

He knows Mick’s just trying to cheer him up still, but somehow, he likes the sound of that.

 

[ … ]

 

He didn’t think he’d ever point a gun at Mick Rory, but here he is. Twenty-four, scared shitless but he’s  _angry_  and he hasn’t seen Mick in two years so what the hell is the man doing sitting pretty with the Darbynians?

He’s on the wrong side and Lenny can’t fix that, not here and now when he’s sweating down his back and promising himself that he’ll never  _ever_  take a job as security for one of the Families again.

Not if it means killing three men and cocking his gun one more time just to stop short when he meets the eyes of the person standing in front of it.

Mick’s bigger. He’s been working out. Leather jacket and gloves and Len’s pretty sure he killed one of Len’s crew with just his hands. 

It’s just the two of them left after this carnage. Small favors.

“Well well, Mick,” he says, a  _lot_  more confident than he feels and isn’t that nice? 

Mick’s eyes look  _dangerous_. “Outta my way, Snart.”

“Can’t do that.”

“I gotta job to do.”

“’N this is how you accomplish it? Getting yourself killed breaking in the backdoor of one of Don Santini’s storage facilities?”

“I’ll go through you if I have to.”

“I’m the one with the gun.”

“You’re still a punk kid, Snart. You won’t use it.”

He tightens his grip on it, finger moving from the side to the trigger. “Try me.” Mick shifts his stance and Len realizes he’s  _going_  to try him and that’s all sorts of a disaster because Len  _isn’t_  bluffing. 

It doesn’t matter because a second later the door is opening and Len’s backup has arrived. He almost wishes they hadn’t.

“Who’s this?” Nicky asks, Santini’s nephew. He’s an idiot but his gun and all his security’s guns are drawn and Len thinks fast and lowers his.

“Our messenger.”

“Our  _what_?”

“Leave one alive to deliver the message. Isn’t that how it goes, Nicky?” he asks, droll, like leaving Mick alive wasn’t an accident caused by the seizing of his heart.

“What message?”

He really doesn’t catch on quick, does it? But Mick does, because he’s looking at Len with outright suspicion but Len can see he  _gets_  it and he won’t fuck this up.

“That Mr. Santini sends his regards.” Len pops the ammunition out of his gun and drops the bullet out of the chamber. He presses it to Mick’s palm, who’s nostrils flare. 

Behind him, Nicky laughs like the threat on Mr. Darbynian’s life is a good idea for a joke or a message. It’s not. Len’s gonna have to get the hell out of dodge if (when) this goes sour. Or else make sure Nicky takes full credit for the idea and kill his entourage at some point so no one contradicts it with the real story. That might work.

Mick looks at him, looks at the others, and steps back, palm closed. “I’ll give him the message.”

Nicky’s boys think it’s a riot. They’re clapping Len on the back. Len wishes he could enjoy having not-died and not having killed Mick but he’s sure it was a bad idea.

At least, he’s sure until five hours later when a form stumbles in the window of his shitty second-storey apartment with a bitten off curse and a knocked over lamp.

Len’s out of bed in a second, gun up, but he sees it’s Mick when the light flicks on and that’s… something. He lowers the gun but doesn’t turn the safety on. Mick’s squinting against the sudden light and from his disordered look…

“Are you drunk?” Len asks. It’s as good of opening as any.

“What the fuck… is wrong with you, Snart?” He’s slurring. Len frowns.

“You’re in  _my_  apartment, jackass.” How Mick found out where he lived is beyond him. It might be time to move again.

“You’re gonna start a war.”

Oh. That. “So sue me.” He drops his gun on the counter as Mick stumbles further into the studio style space and finally rights himself once he detangles from the lamp cord.

Len manages not to smile at the sight. He almost would but the situation’s a little too tense.

“’S damn soft.”

That cuts off his good humor. Len glares at Mick’s accusation, crossing his arms. “Didn’t you just accuse me of starting a war? Don’t see how that’s  _soft_.”

“Gonna get yourself killed.”

“Now who’s being soft?”

“Fuck you.”

He snorts. But he’s relieved, or warmed, or… something. Mick’s still Mick. They’re still… something. Maybe not friends anymore. But their history didn’t disappear.

“You broke into my apartment to tell me not to save your life if it comes up again?”

Mick holds his stomach, “gonna – “

Len points at the bathroom. Mick really  _was_  drunk. Peachy.

He gets him some water and a bucket and directs him to the couch. It’s been a rollercoaster of a fucking night and sleep is the only real remedy for crazy that he knows.

Mick grabs him by the arm when he moves to retreat, glassy eyed but intense as ever. “Don’t get yourself killed, Snart. You’re too good for it.”

It’s raw and honest and not like he’s proud but like he’s desperate.

Len swallows, feeling suddenly opened out and exposed. Mick was always good at making him lose his footing.

“Right back at you, buddy.”

Mick laughs, and even in this state it comes out self-deprecating. “I’m just the muscle.”

“You’re better than that.”

“Oh yeah?” It’s like a challenge but Len swats it aside with a simple,

“Yeah. You’re my partner, asshole.”

Mick’s eyebrows draw together for a second and then he lays back down onto the couch. “Jesus this got sappy.”

Len could smack him upside the head for that. Instead he steps back and glares down at his… partner. “At least it’s not a heart to heart.”

Mick laughs. “Yeah. Those ain’t for guys like us.”

“Heartless,” he agrees with a smirk.

“Yeah.” Mick sounds sleepy, finally, eyes drifting closed. Len’s already sure he’s going to snore. He sighs and flicks off the light.

 

[ … ]

 

“I need a crew for a job.”

“Well hello to you too, Mick.”

Mick gives him a short look. “I got a job. I need a crew.”

“I heard you the first time.”

“And?”

“And I got out of the Heights  _three days ago_.” He’s thirty-three and has vowed to never, ever, get sent back in there. It was for a robbery he was caught in the act of. With the aggravated assault charge on top of it, he’d had to hire a damn good lawyer to sweet talk the DA down and get him a half-decent plea. Thank god for good behavior and early parole.

“What’s your point?”

“My point is that maybe I don’t want to do another job right now,Mick.”

Mick stops and looks at him. He’s older now, they both are. Len hasn’t seen him in years, doing time at different times, not until yesterday when he walked into the bar. They’ve changed. They’re harder. Len sure as hell is, and he was hard to start.

He wonders if this time when Mick pulls his gun, that’ll really be the end of it. But Mick doesn’t pull his gun, at least not yet.

“It’s a good one,” Mick says instead. “Bank job.”

“Bank jobs are high risk – high security, high contingency expectations, dye in the cash.”

“I got a line on some money in transport.”

That – that could change things. But–

“I’m not interested.”

“You saying you’re  _out_?”

Ah, now the guns’ll come out. He’s really glad he had the steak last night, but a little sad he didn’t splurge for the nicer cut.

“I’m  _saying_ ,” he responds when Mick hasn’t pulled his gun yet, “it’s too soon. The heat’s on me right now. Parole.”

“The heat’s always on.”

“Not like this.”

“I’ve got seven warrants out for me right now, Snart. What’ve you got? A whole lotta clean ticket outta town?”

“Fuck you. I’m not going anywhere.”

“But you’re out?”

“No.”

“Then what’s going on, Snart?”

“Thought you didn’t like heart to hearts, Mick.”

It cuts through the tension. 

“Gotta have a heart for that to work, buddy.” Mick gives him a half-grin. It’s dangerous, it always is now, has been for a decade. But it’s Mick, and he’s not about to kill Len, so he’ll take it.

“So drop it.”

“Tell me what you’re doing if you’re not doing this job.”

He should’ve known he couldn’t bluff off with Mick. “I’m still in the game. But I’m  _changing_  this. I have to up my game.”

“What’s that mean?”

“It means I  _never_ plan to go back,” he snarls, and Mick looks surprised at his sudden ire. And then something slides into place on his face.

“Lewis?”

Len glares at his workbench. Mick stays quiet. The bastard can be more patient than Len when he needs to be, not that anyone gives him credit for it. Eventually, he sighs.

“Aggravated assault. Assault with a deadly weapon. Attempted robbery. He got locked up eight months ago.”

So much for no heart to hearts. But Mick just whistles. Len purses his lips, more calm. 

“I’m not going back in there.”

“You won’t have to, buddy.”

“No. I won’t. Not if we start doing things my way.”

“Your way?”

He nods, and thinks about the job he  _really_  wants to do. It’s gonna take months to plan, he knows. But he did just admit how patient Mick could be. Time to test that.

“You familiar with the Central City diamond exchange?”

 

[ … ]

 

He’s forty-two and fucking  _tired_.

Mick’s locked in the brig and everything is so fucked up in this brave new world of metahumans and time travel and so much shit that Len can hardly believe it’s his life anymore.

The one thing that was supposed to stay solid was him and Mick. He fucked that up ten ways to Sunday though and he knows it. So does Mick.

“What’d’you want?” Mick growls as soon as he sees Len. Len can’t really blame him. He schools his own nerves. This won’t be pretty.

“People seem to think we should have a heart to heart.”

“We don’t have hearts. Where does that leave us?”

It’s automatic, but there’s no warmth in it. Mick remembers, but he doesn’t care. That might make this easier, really. Len pushes on. “I’ve got a dozen reasons for killing you. You’ve got a dozen and one for killing me, so.”

“All the talk in the world is not gonna change a thing.”

“Exactly, here’s my proposal. I open this cell, we let our fists do the talking.”

It wouldn’t be the first time, but this is different and they both know it.

“When I kill you?”

He doesn’t hesitate, ready with that answer. “You take the jump ship, make your escape, live out the rest of your life anywhere you like.”

“Hmm.” Mick looks to be considering it. “And if you kill me, well, it’s better than being locked up in this place like some kind of circus freak.”

It’s a courtesy and they both know it. Len’s never been able to beat Mick in a fair fight.

“I take that as a yes?”

“Sound the bell.”

They’ve never been good at talking. They never did figure it out, how to have a real heart to heart. They weren’t built for it.

So it’s strange to try and figure it out now, when Len’s taken the beating of his life, ready to die on the cold and unforgiving metal of the Waverider’s floor under Mick’s ever-steady (but not now, they’re shaking now) hands.

“It’s what you wanted…”

He could cry but he can’t remember how, most of the time. He was ready to die. To do anything to make things right again. He’s been ready for Mick to kill him for a decade, for longer maybe. Always thought it might come down to it, one day, the margin razor thin.

But Mick doesn’t know what he wants and Len can’t fix that. He knows. He wants his partner back. He’d turn back time if he could. The irony doesn’t escape him.

 

[ … ]

 

Their destinies aren’t their own, their lives haven’t  _been_  their own, and Mick’s knocking out Raymond Palmer, of all people, to take his place at the Occulus.

Because that’s the kind of man Mick is, has always been, underneath it all. Not a puppet, not a bruiser, not an arsonist. The kind of guy to help a scared kid at juvie not get shanked just because he happened to walk by at the right time. The kind of guy to take a hit for someone else and not think twice, just because.

Len doesn’t have the time, and if he did he still wouldn’t have the words. Still hasn’t learned that skill, though here at the end, part of him wishes he had figured it out. It won’t matter soon.

He says goodbye to his old friend and proves, if only to himself, that at least he deserved some of it, what Mick gave him. At least he could earn it here.

He was always sneaky and mean, but he always had a heart.


End file.
